


Vox Clamantis

by seakaygee



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Alternate Universe - College/University, Blow Jobs, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Face-Sitting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-02-08
Packaged: 2018-05-19 05:02:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5954584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seakaygee/pseuds/seakaygee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Effie Trinket is a master student in architecture and Haymitch Abernathy is her professor and thesis advisor. She’s tired of his irresponsibility.</p>
<p>Or the college professor/student AU no one asked for.</p>
<p>“Why weren’t you in senior seminar?” she demands.</p>
<p>He casts a withering glance at her. “Because I was here sleeping,” he replies, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.</p>
<p>She tamps down the urge to grab the knife that is sitting next to him and plunge it into his chest. “I was supposed to have today free to work on a project. But instead, I had to come in and--are you listening to me?” she cries. He stops rooting around in his desk for a moment and scratches his stomach. It’s not the worst stomach she’s ever seen. He’s solidly built, and as an architect, she can appreciate that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vox Clamantis

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to Wildimaginings for her encouragement and beta reading. I would have never had the courage to write this without your support!

When Effie Trinket finishes teaching her thesis advisor’s senior studio, she feels as though she’s dead on her feet. She had woken up at four this morning to run in the snow, and had been waiting on hold with U Penn’s special collections librarian when she had received a text from Peeta Mellark at noon. She’d remembered the young man clearly--beautiful manners, huge arms, and a flair for detail that set his designs apart. She had scanned it over while listening to the recording on speakerphone. Haymit--that is, Professor Abernathy hadn’t shown up for class. Again. She had groaned and sent Peeta a text letting him know that she was ten minutes away. She had mentally cursed the day Professor Abernathy was born as she’d dressed for the cold, still waiting on hold. She wasn’t dressed as well as she’d have liked to be when she’d arrived to teach class, and she had heard one of the students mutter to another that she had probably just crawled out of the professor’s bed.

Her cheeks had burned with indignation and with a bit of shame. In the year and a half she had been Haymitch’s teaching assistant, they had grown increasingly close. Despite his knack for driving her mad, she had constantly felt as if they were only moments away from starting something very untoward. The call to U Penn had dropped as she was holding the door open for the students, and she had only just suppressed the urge to scream. The studio itself hadn’t been bad. The students had worked without consulting her for most of the six hour block, which had allowed her to pen a nasty e-mail to Haymit--Professor Abernathy.

As she is leaving, a sullen-looking young woman stops her, trailed by the always pleasant Mr Mellark. “You need to get me a letter of reference today,” the student demands. Katniss Everdeen, her brain supplies. Brutal designs, really. But Hay--Professor Abernathy is sure that she is some kind of genius. 

“Excuse me,” Effie says, stepping closer to the girl. Katniss Everdeen is no match for her. Effie is nearly six foot in heels and isn’t wearing some ironic hipster sweater that looks to have been poorly patched. 

“What she, excuse me, what she means to say is that Professor Abernathy promised us recommendations two months ago and still hasn’t, um, let us know they were sent. And the deadlin--,” Peeta says carefully.

Katniss interrupts, “We need them today.” Terrible manners. Horrible little accent, too.

“The deadline is next Friday,” he replies gently. 

“Well, you can wait until then. I want mine today,” Katniss snaps. 

More loudly than she has to, Effie cuts in. “Do you have the recommendation forms? Because if you do, I’ll see to it that they’re done and mailed off today.” She leans in and adds, “I have the professor’s credit card, so I’ll overnight them.” 

Peeta beams at her and gives her the paperwork, reviewing all of the pertinent information with her. He throws his arms around her and gives her a hug. “Thank you, Effie. It really means a lot to us.”

“You’re welcome, dear,” she says, feeling oddly maternal. Katniss pushes past them with a disgusted sigh and Peeta just shrugs and says his goodbyes.

Before she had been angry, now she’s...pissed off. Squaring her shoulders, she dials Haym--Professor Abernathy’s cell and marches to his office. He doesn’t answer his cell because he’s passed out on the couch in his office. Quelle surprise.

Effie grabs a copy of his book off the shelf and throws it at him, hitting him square in the center of his chest. Not a bad shot if she does say so herself. He sits up, looking wild with that stupid knife in his hand. “You weren’t in your senior seminar,” she snaps, crossing her arms.

“Morning to you, too, princess,” he mutters, rubbing his hands over his face.

“Why weren’t you in senior seminar?” she demands.

He casts a withering glance at her. “Because I was here sleeping,” he replies, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

She tamps down the urge to grab the knife that is sitting next to him and plunge it into his chest. “I was supposed to have today free to work on a project. But instead, I had to come in and--are you listening to me?” she cries. He stops rooting around in his desk for a moment and scratches his stomach. It’s not the worst stomach she’s ever seen. He’s solidly built, and as an architect, she can appreciate that. And just over his desk she can see that he’s slightly hard, and it makes her blush. Obviously he’s not reacting to her; he’s not hard because she’s here. It’s just that she’s here and he’s hard. Her tongue darts out to lick her lips.

“You see something you like, princess?” he asks, walking around the desk. 

“No,” she says but it’s not as firm as she’d like it to be. She’s sure that he can hear the lack of resolution in her voice. “It’s not fair that I have to do your job and mine,” she adds but it comes out sounding stupid and breathy instead of indignant. He makes a noise of assent. “And you’re drinking too much,” she throws out desperately. He nods, continuing his path towards her.

Suddenly she wishes that she’d put her coat back on, because her nipples are ridiculously hard under her dress. He has this strange effect on her and she doesn’t know what to do about it. “It’s not fair that I have to do your job and mine--I have a thesis to finish,” she says weakly.

“You already said that one,” he replies, looking from her chest to her mouth. 

“Professor,” she begins.

“Haymitch,” he corrects. He closes the space between them, standing so close that his cock is pressed against her belly and her breasts push against him with every breath. But he doesn’t touch her. His hands are balled into fists at his side. “Guess I need to make it up to you,” he says, letting his knuckles skim her dress.

She means to agree, but instead she just whimpers. He tips her chin up and kisses her mouth briefly. It’s not their first kiss by any means, but there’s a promise to it that makes her ache. He breaks the kiss and traces the line of her jaw with his fingers. He smirks and she decides that she’s had enough of waiting for him.

Her tongue darts out over her lips and she places her hands on his shoulders. He sighs and she realizes that he’s been holding his breath. She pushes on his shoulders gently and as he drops to his knees, he says, “There is a huge power differential in this relationship.” 

She murmurs in agreement and bends at the waist so she can push him down more. He looks confused as he lays on his back. “Professor,” she replies, sliding her knickers off and balling them into her fist, “If you think that you are the one with power in this relationship, you are utterly mistaken.” She drops to her knees and straddles his waist, bunching her dress up above her hips. The fabric will be creased but she can’t really bring herself to care. She slips her knickers into his chest pocket and pats it. He looks quizzically at her. “We might need them later,” she says with a grin.

He groans and tentatively places his hands on her thighs, rubbing circles with his thumbs. She lets out a shaky breath. She hasn’t had sex in awhile. She’s been so busy doing her job and his that she passes out most nights without even turning her vibrator on. But he’s about to change that for her. “You gonna sit on my face, princess?” he asks, giving her thighs a squeeze.

She trembles a little at the vulgarity of the expression. That is exactly what she wants to do, but she can’t help but blush when he says it. Instead of answering, she leans down and kisses his mouth hard. He tangles his hands in her hair and licks at her bottom lip, and she opens her mouth to let him slip his tongue in but he just keeps teasing her lips, nipping and flicking them with his tongue. Then he pushes her head away and says, “That’s what I’m going to do to your clit.” He gives her ass a light smack and she smiles in spite of herself.

“Yes,” is the only reply she can manage before shimmying up him. He urges her up further than she would think she needs to go, and squeezes her ass when he tells her to stop. She feels a little silly sitting up straight on top of her thesis advisor’s face. But as his hot breath rolls over her center, the idea of climbing off is unfathomable. He starts licking her just below her cunt; firm licks followed by quick, teasing strokes. He kneads her ass as he works his way around, his nose nudges her cunt and she makes an excited little squeak. He laughs, his stubble and chin pressing against her opening. She grabs her breasts and tries to rub her nipples through the fabric. She groans with frustration as he comes back to where he started.

She shucks her dress and under her, he says something that sounds like, “Okay?” 

She nods and then feels foolish, realizing that he can’t see her. “I’m just taking my dress off so I can--so I can,” she falters. He gives her ass a squeeze and she tries again, “So I can touch my breasts.” He groans against her, the sound vibrating up through her. She makes fists with her palms and releases them, unsure of what to do with her hands.

Then he plunges his tongue into her and she forgets how to think about what to do. Her hands fly to her bra and push it up over her nipples. They are already pebbled from the cold as she starts to roll them between her fingers. But they aren’t the main act. Haymitch’s tongue is coring her, plunging deeper inside of her than a tongue has the right to do, filling her up and drinking in the first tastes of her pleasure. She would swear on a stack of bibles that his tongue is thicker and longer than her last boyfriend’s dick. He teases that spot on her walls that makes her go wild. Her hips start to roll against him and she’s got a good rhythm going, and sometimes the tip of his nose knocks against her clit. She might even be getting ready to come.

But he stops. Before she can ask what he thinks he’s doing, he slides his hands up her hips and pulls them forward until his tongue touches her clit. And oh, that’s what he’s doing. He licks her clit firmly once and she pitches forward, breaking her fall with her forearms, the muscles of her back straining as she arches. “Okay?” he asks, his lips brushing against her hood.

She opens her mouth and a little bit of drool escapes. She wipes it away and stutters, “M--m--m--more.” He chuckles and gives her clit a series of quick licks. She arches hard against him, the cords of her neck painfully tight, and her fingers curl into the worn carpet. “Close,” she manages to say as her hard nipples rub against the carpet. “Close, Haymitch,” she repeats. He grunts in acknowledgement and scrapes against her with his teeth. Her hips are rotating faster now and her breath is quick and shallow. He pulls her against his face and sucks her clit into his mouth, worrying it with his tongue. All of the muscles in her body tighten at once and the painful throbbing in her clit gives way to the most amazing softness. She hears someone sob and a tear rolls down her cheek. She rests her forehead on the carpet as all of the stress and tension of the last year and a half just ebb away.

Haymitch moves his face away from her center and presses kisses on the skin of her shaking inner thigh, his wet stubble scraping and tickling in his lips’ wake. Trembling, she scoots down and comes to rest in his lap. She curls her hands around the nape of his neck and they kiss for a while as she comes down from her high.

As she becomes more aware of the world around her, she realizes two things: one, Haymitch is hard under her; and two, she could come again easily. Her hips make little circles against his and she can feel the tension building in his neck. “Ready for round two?” she asks. 

He frowns a little at her. “What, that wasn’t good enough for you?” he snaps.

“It was perfect. Literally the best,” she hums. “But I am young--” he grunts in response, running his hands up and down her back, “--and ready for a second round.” He doesn’t say anything, he just pants against her as he watches her breasts rise and fall. “I was thinking about a variation,” she teases. He looks up from her chest. “I was thinking that I stay on top. But maybe I face the other way and I could,” she pauses as a blush burns across her cheeks, “perform oral se--fellate you at the same time?” He nods slowly. “Would you like that?” she asks, hoping for a slightly more enthusiastic answer.

He growls in response and pulls her down for a rough kiss. They’ve kissed at least a dozen times before, usually after drinks at a work function or after a particularly intense argument, and on one notable occasion, he’d kissed her softly and deeply when her thesis was accepted for publication. But she likes him rough. He’s not like the other professors--not the ones in North Face who drive Subarus, or in elbow patches who walk despite the weather, or the hippies who bike. And then there’s his smell; like whiskey and fire and something sharp and metallic. He breaks the kiss and frames her face with his hands. “You ready?” he asks, his voice is low and gravelly. It stokes the lick of desire in her stomach until it becomes a flame.

She nods and kisses him once more before pushing his shoulders down. He maneuvers her hips over him and she takes a deep, shaking breath before unbuttoning his jeans. His breath hits her center in rapid pants as she strokes her fingers over the denim. She had felt him once in the parking lot outside of Vincent Hall. She’d cupped him, letting the heat of him seep through her mittens, then a group of students had laughed somewhere in the distance and they had broken apart. But it’s seven pm on a Friday, and nobody is going to interrupt them this time. The doors to the building are locked and all the students are pre-partying in their rooms.

And she is stroking Haymitch’s cock through his jeans. He rolls his hips to push himself more firmly against her. His tongue touches her lips and she moans a little at the contact. She’s still sensitive and swollen from her last orgasm. Collecting herself, she slowly unzips his jeans, grinning at the little twitches in his hips. “Impatient, Dr. Abernathy?” she says in what she hopes is a seductive voice.

“Don’t do that,” he snaps. “You’re not some naive coed, you know me. It’s Haymitch.” She bristles at the correction. “I don’t want to--I want you. I don’t want the teaching assistant.” She’s tempted to point out that she is the teaching assistant. But she thinks she knows what he means. He’s never given any hint of being interested in any of his students, even though they follow after him like puppies. He gives her hips a tug and starts to tease his way towards her clit. She almost wishes that she could suppress her reaction to him, but her hips buck when he scrapes his teeth on her sensitive flesh.

She tries not to focus on what he’s doing because she has a job to finish herself. Instead, she pushes his jeans and boxers down, freeing his cock. Without meaning to, she whimpers a little. He’s hard and there’s a vein just begging to be licked; so she takes him in hand--he’s so hot she thinks he could burn her--and licks him from root to tip. “Fuck,” he hisses, the word hitting her clit.

Once at the top, she’s a bit confused. She’s given her share of handjobs and blowjobs but she’s never seen a penis quite like this one before. There’s a hood of skin around his tip and she decides to at least try something before confessing that she doesn’t know what to do with this...thing. Gingerly, she starts at the tip, using the beads of moisture to help her push the extra skin down. He groans and thrusts freely into her hand. Under her fingers, the skin moves up and down. She pumps his shaft but as soon as she touches the skin around his head, he starts thrusting and clutching her thighs with a bruising grip. She’s not exactly sure what she’s doing but when he sucks her hood into his mouth, she sucks his into hers and flicks her tongue against the edge as her hand slowly pumps his shaft. His hips thrust hard and he growls, “I’m going to come in your throat, Effie.” The words rumble against her sensitive flesh, making her internal muscles tighten.

She frowns a little, and she would roll her eyes if it weren’t such an ill-mannered thing to do. “Okay,” she replies, “But careful with the thrusting. I’m going to...to suck you now. If that’s okay?” The last part comes out rushed and she sounds like the coed he specifically said he didn’t want.

“Yeah,” he replies, “Suck my dick, sweetheart.” His tone is soft and encouraging but the vulgarity is completely unappealing to her.

“Don’t say it like that,” she chides and she swears that she can hear him roll his eyes. He’s changing his grip as she presses a kiss against his slit and lets his cock penetrate her mouth. She only means to take the first inch or so of him into her mouth but Haymitch slips a finger into her and she convulses forward, sucking his entire length in. She regrets that she wasn’t able to ease her way down--the last couple of inches were probably a bit dry--but she quickly falls into a rhythm without even meaning to. Every time he pumps a finger in her, her inner muscles contract and she rears up a little. And when he pulls back, she falls forward, sucking his cock into her mouth. For several minutes, the only sounds in the room are his fingers in her wetness and moans and squelching from her wet mouth. 

She wraps her thumb and forefinger tightly around his base to steady him and to impede the blood flow; in response, he inserts two fingers and she moans against his cock. He curls the fingers inside of her and she whimpers with him in her mouth, which causes him to curse against her clit.

Her jaw is getting tired--it’s been awhile since there was time for blowjobs--and she switches to her hand. He slows down his movements and asks if she’s okay. “I just need a second,” she says and swipes her thumb over his tip. 

After a profanity laced tirade he says, ”’S okay if you can’t finish.” She pulls back slightly at this. Of course she can finish him. Ignoring the ache in her jaw, she takes every last inch of him in her mouth, letting him hit the back of her throat. She hums a couple of notes before pulling back and flicking her tongue against his slit. He starts a punishing pace with his fingers, making her juices flow down her thighs, and she runs her tongue against the hood of flesh on his cock and rolls it up and down with her lips.

“Fuck,” he yells against her, “Gonna make me come. My girl gonna make me come so hard.” She murmurs in assent. There’s a strange warmth that washes over her when she thinks of the phrase “my girl.” Is she his girl? If this is the type of sex she can expect, it wouldn’t be the worst. She moves her hands to his balls and starts to play with them, squeezing and tugging gently.

Under her, he’s grunting and she can almost make out the occasional word. It sounds like he’s mostly calling her his girl, and a strange possessive feeling wells up inside of her. She can’t understand it because she’s teetering near the edge of an orgasm again. So she picks up the pace of her bobs and soon he’s harder than anyone she’s ever had, and he hasn’t shouted a warning but she can taste that he’s close. She increases her suction as a bead of sweat rolls from her forehead to hit his muscular thigh. He stops licking her clit and lets out a shuddering breath. She’s sure he’s close so she fixes her position and waits.

After two more breaths, he grunts, “I’m co--Effie, I’m gonna come.” She makes a noise of acknowledgement and then he’s coming, thick and hot. She moves him as far back into her throat as she can manage comfortably. His fingers slam into her and she wishes that he would wait until he’s completely done to finish her but he seems to have other ideas. He’s just barely finished when her orgasm starts. She lets him out of her mouth, her fluids and his running down her chin, dripping from her throat onto him, and continues to ease him from his orgasm with her hand. 

When her orgasm hits, she braces herself with her free arm and lets her chest fall against him. She doesn’t mean to cry out loud--too loud for inside a public building--and high but he is relentless with his fingers and his mouth. As she whimpers and shakes on top of him, she’s reminded of the first time he’d interrogated her about her thesis. His fingers inside of her are like his questions had been--rapid-fire and unrelenting. He moves her hips and she wonders if sex on the floor of his office had always been inevitable for them. She rolls off of him completely and they lay next to each other, sides barely touching.

When the stars clear from her eyes, she asks, “Do you still think I’m an uptight bitch?” 

He rolls onto his side with a groan and tentatively strokes her stomach. “Well, I know you’re tight now that I’ve fucked you,” he says thoughtfully.

“Haymitch,” she snaps. She sits up, ready to fight, but he wraps his hand around her neck and pulls her in for a brutal kiss. She can taste herself and his semen, and it’s the best kiss she’s ever had. The end of the kiss is surprisingly sweet as it trails off into little pecks.

He rubs one of his knuckles against her cheek and she flushes at the scent of herself on it. “I’ll be in seminar next Friday,” he whispers.

“Excuse me,” she asks, recoiling slightly. Then she remembers why she came to see him in the first place. “Oh, of course, as it should be. But we really need to talk about--.”

“Come over to my place,” he interrupts. “I’ll pick up some takeout on the way home and we can talk. Then I can see to you properly.” 

She flushes even harder. “I want to talk about my career,” she insists.

“And we will,” he replies, running his finger over her nipple, “We’ll talk about your workload, we’ll talk about what happens after graduation then I’ll bend you over my table and we’ll let nature run its course.” He pauses, clearly trying to gather his thoughts. “Look, sweetheart. I don’t apologize. But if I did...this would be it.” He rolls her nipple between his fingers.

“It’s not the worst apology I’ve ever received,” she sighs, pulling him in for a kiss.


End file.
